


How Holman Greenhand changed the fate of Middle-Earth (a working title)

by Pinlie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 'Lin Family, 'Ri Family, 'Ur Family, AU- BOTFA, AU- Holman Greenhand messed with fate, And Of Course - Freeform, Do I have enough tags yet?, Durin Family, Dysfunctional Family, Epic Friendship, Eventual Happy Ending, Families of Choice, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Multi, Romantic Friendship, So basically, Some Fluff, Unconventional Families, WIP, also, etc - Freeform, lotsa families, much families, this will be some angst, yes - Freeform, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinlie/pseuds/Pinlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf is in an awfully bad mood when he arrives at Bilbo Baggin's house, only to find that the once adventurous young Hobbit is now a respectful (read: boring) gentlehobbit. But what if their meeting didn't occur like that? </p><p>Gandalf tried to visit Bilbo earlier in the year, but Bilbo was not home. ("Gandalf came to the Shire to visit him in T.A. 2941 but [Bilbo] had disappeared again [on one of his walks] because of Elven new year" (http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Bilbo))</p><p>Holman Greenhand, Bilbo's current gardener, (pre-Hamfast Gamgee, see http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Holman_Greenhand), tells Gandalf where Bilbo went on his walk instead of describing him. Thus, Gandalf meets with Bilbo on Yestarë, the Elven New Year, the first day of spring and the renewal of nature. Point being, their meeting is much more pleasant and much earlier. This changes things. (A lot of things.)</p><p>OR </p><p>An AU wherein their earlier meeting sets off a chain of events that changes the fate of Middle-Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Respectable Never

**Author's Note:**

> I did quite a bit of research for this fic, online and from the original novels. I've also seen both Hobbit movies a few times. My head canon is a mix of the three sources, plus my own imagination. If you'd like to know which parts came from which source, just ask. Warning: This is a WIP. My goal is to keep to weekly updates. I may not succeed.

 

 

> " _While there's life there's hope._ "
> 
> —Bilbo, quoting Bungo, his father, when the company loses hope at the entrance to the Lonely Mountains.

Holman Greenhand was a master gardener, renowned throughout the Shire for his green thumb. He cared for not only his own garden, but also the gardens of several of the best-off hobbits in Hobbiton. Young though he was, Holman knew his craft well. He had been born and raised a gardener and had spent his whole childhood learning every secret of the plants he loved.

His very favorite garden was that of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, a gentlehobbit who lived in his family smial, Bag-End, on Bagshot Row. Mr. Bungo Baggins, his previous master, gave him free reign over the garden when he hired Holman as he was much more of a builder than a gardener.

When young Mr. Baggins grew up, it became clear that he _loved_ to garden, but he kept Holman on as a gardener anyways. He was only two years older than Holman and thus the two became good friends. Often the two were seen together, drinking tea and chatting or elbow-deep in fresh soil. Together, the two cultivated the biggest tomatoes and the most beautiful roses in all of Hobbiton, and probably beyond as well.

Holman was 49 when he changed the fate of the known world, and in a very poor mood besides. The day was Yestarë, the Elven new year, and Mr. Baggins was off adventuring again on one of his walks. Mr. Baggins was what many in the Shire would call odd — he liked going on long walks, telling and hearing tales of adventures, and getting into all sorts of trouble.

As fauntlings, Mr. Baggins had been much worse. It was only after the death of his mother, Mrs. Belladonna Baggins, that he had begun to settle down and only, many gossiped, enough to take care of his new responsibilities as Master of Bag-End. He still walked long and far, visiting nearby groups of traveling Elves and Men or exploring the edge of the forests. Some even spoke of seeing him down by the river's edge walking, a place no respectable hobbit would be caught anywhere near for fear of drowning. 

Of course, Holman knew Mr. Baggins had no such fears. Mrs. Belladonna had taught them both to swim years ago, despite the aggrieved protest of Holman that it was very unhobbit-like. Indeed, the river was exactly, Holman knew, where one could find Mr. Baggins that night. 

He told Gandalf as much when he came by to visit. It would do Mr. Baggins good, Holman knew, to see his mother's old friend. Holman could see what the Shire's gossiping was doing to poor Mr. Baggins. It was killing his spirit, all the talk of "being respectable" was, and there was no mistake about it.

"Perhaps," he told Gandalf that night, "you can help him, for I see no way for me to do anything about it. Much more of this teasing, tormenting, pressuring — whatever you want to call it — and he will be ruined, just ruined, I'm telling you, for anything but sitting about and complaining."

Gandalf gave Holman a very strange look at this remark. 

"Indeed?" he said, raising one of his Very Intimidating eyebrows, "And is that not what a respectable hobbit does? Do you not think he should be one?"

Holman flushed. 

"An entirely respectable hobbit Mr. Baggins may not ever be, but I like him that way. He is my friend, and I know that if he becomes anything but odd he would not be himself, nor the friend I've grown to love these past four decades. Please, Mr. Gandalf, you must do _something_!"

Gandalf nodded.

"I cannot promise you anything, Mr. Greenhand, beyond that I will try to help. However, try I will," and here Gandalf paused to crouch next to Holman. "In fact, I think I have the perfect adventure in mind to help our dear Bilbo regain his former self. Don't you worry; I'll see to it that Mr. Baggins never loses that adventurous side of his. This will be a great opportunity for self-discovery. Or," and by this point, he had stood up and was wandering down the path towards the river, mumbling to himself, "or is it rediscovery? Re-self-discovery? Oh confound it all..."

Soon he had wandered out of sight and Holman, done for the night and now reassured that his friend would not be alone, went home. 

 


	2. Arguing the Benefits of Being Odd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gandalf and Bilbo briefly chat and an agreement is reached, quite possibly due to the state of Bilbo's mind at the moment.

Gandalf had long concerned himself with the troubles of the North; the dragon Smaug and the darkness of Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains gave him great cause for worry. There was also Dol Goldur to fear — and fear it Gandalf did. He had visited Dol Goldur with suspicions of a dark being worse than a simple Nazgûl in mind some nine hundred or so years ago. A fear of Sauron, a being most believed gone for good. 

Yet when he visited all he found was a creature that disappeared, leaving behind only the moniker "The Necromancer" and Gandalf no more reassured than when he started. Still, he did not visit the place again for nearly eight hundred years, half of which were peaceful, half of which were not.

The peace he treasured. When the peace was threatened, and then ceased to truly exist, Gandalf acted. He helped form the White Council, refusing leadership in order to better serve his purpose, helping people. And he did try to help people; he did everything he could for each and every of the innocent folk he met.

It was during those years that Gandalf met the lovely hobbits of the Shire. After protecting and aiding them during the Long Winter, a terrible time of starvation and danger for the normally peaceful race, he became welcome amongst the isolated people.

It was a great honor to him; they had impressed him with their courage and heart through the trying season. He fell in love with their simple lives and simple joys. They adored his fireworks and stories. A friendship was soon born then, one that would last many centuries and change many fates.

When Gandalf returned to Dol Goldur he found imprisoned there Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain (or he would have been, had he a mountain to rule.) Before Thráin's death he gave Gandalf his only possessions, a key and a map, and his only request: to give both objects to his son, Thorin. 

That was all, unfortunately for Thráin, pushed to the back of Gandalf's mind when he discovered that the Necromancer was no mere man, nor even a Nazgûl. No, it was as he feared, much worse than that. The Necromancer was truly Sauron and he had wrested the final of the seven dwarven Rings of Power from Thráin and was now seeking the others.

Gandalf contacted the White Council immediately. He felt his first stirrings of doubt when Saruman declared that they should wait, watch, and act only after they were sure there was a danger. Gandalf knew there was a danger! It was Sauron, of course it was dangerous!

But Saruman disagreed. The One Ring was surely lost to the sea, as everyone knew. Thus, Sauron could never truly rise to power. He was no threat, according to Saruman, and it was better not to act too hastily. To Gandalf's great frustration, the majority of the council seemed to agree with him. 

Now though, years had passed and another, older fear had resurfaced — Smaug. No one had heard from the great dragon in years and it was rumored that Thráin's foolish son, Thorin, planned to try to overtake the beast and reclaim his home. Gandalf feared the dragon. It could cause them all a great deal of trouble if it escaped the mountain and turned southward. 

Thus, when he chanced upon Thorin in a pub in Bree, he decided to take the chance to speak with him. To his surprise, it was Thorin who started the conversation, citing an urge to speak to him, coming from he knew not where. Gandalf was fascinated; he felt the exact same urge.

After speaking to him for a while he discovered that the rumors were true — Thorin did indeed plan on assembling a company to retake the mountain and defeat Smaug. Gandalf knew that though it was a brave and noble quest, it was ultimately also a stupid one. They would all die without a good plan, or reinforcements, or, or, _something_...

He resigned himself to helping the dwarf after listening to his passionate, desperately homesick speech. Though he was an idiot, Gandalf could not deny that he was a brave idiot and drat it all if he wasn't getting _fond_ of the ridiculous little man. It couldn't be helped, something had to be done.

He convinced Thorin to trust him (which was not so easy as it usually was for one such as Gandalf to do. It took the entire night at the Prancing Pony and the four day walk from Bree straight through the Shire to gain his good opinion.) 

Finally though, he won the dwarf's favor and promised to help him in his quest. He made a deal with Thorin to get the final member of their company while Thorin went to negotiate with the other dwarrows of the Blue Mountain for their aid. 

This was really all a rather long-winded lead up as to why Gandalf found himself wandering along the winding riverbank of the Shire on the evening of the Elven new year. 

Gandalf found Bilbo sitting on a rock with his big, hobbitish feet dangling in the river. Frogs croaked and crickets crooned all around him and the moon shone brightly, illuminating his upturned face and closed eyes. His fingers were buried in the moss covering the rock and in that moment, Gandalf knew Bilbo was the right choice for the quest.

He looked to be one with nature, his golden curls closer to silver in the moonlight. With his hands tangling with the rock and plants, his feet dripping with water, and his face full of sky-lust, he was the very picture of peace. 

Gandalf breathed out gently, not wanting to disturb the fragile scene. Though not gently enough, it appeared. Bilbo gasped and turned to Gandalf, eyes flying open wide and lips parted in surprise.

"Gandalf! You- You startled me," the hobbit seemed to calm a bit as he slipped off the rock and stepped hesitantly toward the wizard. "What are you doing here? On tonight of all nights?"

Gandalf smiled — this was the Bilbo he knew, blunt and filled to the brim with heart. But then— 

"N-not," Bilbo stuttered, face suddenly flushing, "not that you aren't welcome; of course, you're most welcome—  err, very welcome. You're a wizard; even if you weren't welcome, you could do what you pleased anyway. Not that you would! I'm not saying that you would! Or wouldn't! I'm not saying either way, just that— " 

"My dear Bilbo! What on this fine Middle-Earth ever caused you to be a babbler! My goodness, Bilbo, from the way you speak I would hardly recognize you!"

Bilbo flushed further, all the way to the tips of his pointy ears and down his neck but smartly kept his mouth firmly shut. It made Gandalf smile. 

"My dear hobbit, I am here to ask you a favor and to help you. Do not tell me that you do not need help, for you have just proven to me that you do. You are losing your Tookishness, young Baggins, and I won't stand for it. It hasn't even been ten years since dear Belladonna's death and here you are, speaking all respectably. Your mother would never believe it! I hardly can and I'm right here listening to it. That Greenhand was right, something must be done."

"G-Greenhand? You mean Holman? My gardener? Now see here, Gandalf, what does Mr. Greenhand have to do with this? I won't have you ruining his reputation too!" 

"I will do no such thing!" Gandalf declared.

"Good, because — "

" _If_ , that is," Gandalf interrupted, "if and only if, you promise to do me my favor."

Bilbo finally smiled, and it transformed his face. Gone was the worry and the properness— the Baggins-ness. Left only was the joy behind — and that was all Bilbo.

"Dare I ask, O Gandalf of the Greyest of Morals, what favor it is?"

"Bilbo! You have your cheek in you yet, to call me such outright slanderous things! Ah well, you will need that bravery for this favor."

Bilbo tensed slightly, but his eyes — his eyes looked more alive than they'd been the whole conversation.

"And the favor? What is it?"

"Have you anything against dwarrows, dear hobbit?" Gandalf replied. As he knew it would, his cryptic-ness only further intrigued the poor hobbit.

"No, no. I'm quite fascinated by them. There is not much to read on their race as they are said to be so secretive. But... why?"

"My favor is that you host a large company of dwarrows for dinner, and possibly for the night, in a few weeks time. At that point, they will ask of you a request. They will ask that you join them on their journey. My favor is that you would consider saying yes."

"Quite a favor you ask, Mr. Gandalf, for such a small reward," Bilbo teased nervously. 

"They will offer you riches beyond your imagination's scope, companionship, titles. But you need none of those things; indeed, you have all of them in the Shire and your comfort and books besides, so I suppose that you are right to wonder why you should agree. However there is one thing that you do not have here, something that you sorely miss, though you may not consciously realize it. Holman realized it and he asked me to help you obtain it. I agreed. It is why I think that, though I ask you to join for selfish reasons, the journey would do you good."

"What is it Gandalf? What am I missing so desperately that I'd go off on such a mad adventure, and with a company of dwarrows, no less?"

"Adventure, my dear hobbit. Your life is missing an adventure, Bilbo, and I fear what will become of you if you do not get one."

And Gandalf knew, in that moment, that he'd won the argument, from the shattered look of longing in Bilbo's eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first few chapters should be out rather quickly, as the idea is still fresh in my mind. However, don't expect every update to be this fast. I'm not good enough to be that quick.


	3. Dwarrows, Dwarrows, in Bagshot Row

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, as is self-evident by the chapter title, there are dwarrows in Bagshot End and Bilbo prepares a very large supper. (Although there are only the first two dwarrows in this chapter... but fear not! More to come!)
> 
> Also- MERRY CHRISTMAS (or happy holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas.) I wish you all every happiness!

Bilbo was grateful for the time to prepare for his dwarven guests. He knew that Gandalf didn't always give people so much as a day's warning before turning their lives upside-down and, knowing this, he was going to take advantage of every day of forewarning that he had. 

The day after Gandalf left, after breakfast, some cleaning up, and second breakfast with Holman, Bilbo went down to the market and placed several large orders. His own pantry, he knew, was stocked well enough to feed a group as large as the one Gandalf described dinner and supper but not much else.

If he didn't stock up properly, there would be no dessert or snacks or breakfasts at all the next morning! And breakfasts, he had been reliably informed by his father, were the most important meals of the day. Besides, Gandalf wasn't sure when, exactly, the dwarrows were arriving or how long they would be staying. He would be remiss in his duties as a host if he was not fully prepared for however long they decided to stay.

With his hosting duties in mind, Bilbo also ordered a new, sturdy set of plates and silverware from his cousin, Hildigrim Took, and sent word to the library of Bree requesting any and all books they had on dwarrows. He knew next to nothing about dwarrows as most of his own studies focused on Men and Elves. He hoped to remedy this before meeting the dwarrows so as not to accidentally offend them with his ignorance.

During the following week, Bilbo invited several of his relatives, and of course, Holman, over to eat. He tried out several new recipes and rehashed a few secret family recipes as well, asking for their honest opinions and gleaning what he could from their polite responses. He also took the chance to get rid of most of the fresh vegetables in the house — the one book he owned on dwarrows seemed to suggest that they hated what was described rather rudely as "rabbit food." 

The book, an account book turned journal of a dwarven miner, did not paint dwarrows as a very cheery bunch. He hoped it was only the exception, and not the rule, for dwarrows to be so gruff and crude but nonetheless mentally prepared himself for the possibility. 

A week and a half after Gandalf's visit, the foodstuffs and books arrived. Holman and Bilbo's cousin, Odo Proudfoot, helped him move everything into the house. Though Bilbo knew his Aunt Linda had only sent Odo over for the potential gossip scoop, he was grateful for his help. The amount of food was simply ridiculous and all at once Bilbo doubted whether it would be eaten or not in time for him to leave.

This reminded him that there would be more left behind than food when he left. So Bilbo wrote a will and had it witnessed, detailing what to do with his property and possessions if he did not return within three years and giving Holman the ability to use his money to pay for Bag-End's upkeep and taxes. 

He also wrote letters to the Thain, to the heads of the Took and Baggins family, and to Holman about what he wanted done with his property while he was away: namely, nothing. If there was an emergency, he allowed, Bag-End could be used as temporary housing but that was all the allowances he was willing to make on the matter. 

Thus prepared, Bilbo spent the second half of the second week packing and repacking and cooking and baking so that no matter what time of day it was, Bag-End always had a warm fire glowing in it and a good scent coming from it.

This was what Dwalin was met with when he approached the hillside along Bagshot Row: an overpowering, mouth-watering blast of cinnamon, roasting meat, and baked bread. 

He followed his nose up the hill to a small fenced in yard. Hobbits seemed to burrow into hills to make their homes which seemed to him a smaller-scale imitation of dwarven caverns. He wondered how they were constructed, and if it was done well, and whether or not they ever had cave-ins. But mostly he wondered exactly how much of that delicious smelling food he could get his hands on before the rest got there. 

Dwalin pushed aside the gate with ease and stomped up to the front stoop where the note posted on the door stopped him short.

"Knock, don't pull the bell, if you are one of the dwarrows here for supper."

It was written in old Taliska, a language Dwalin hadn't seen in at least a century. Not that this mattered to Dwalin, with the scent of food wafting out of the windows. He knocked firmly on the little green door, unsure what reception he would face but determined to get some of the food no matter his welcome. Gandalf had promised, after all. He did not have to wait long though; moments later the door was wrenched open.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," said the funny little man at the door, bowing deeply. "Come in, come in! I have supper waiting in the kitchen. Can I take your cloak?"

Stepping inside, Dwalin bowed in return, feeling slightly flattered by the depth of the — what were they called again . . . hobbits! — hobbit's bow and his polite greeting.

"Dwalin, at your service," he returned. His ma had drilled him with manners when he was a wee lad and, despite Thorin's claims to the contrary, he did know how to greet like a proper dwarf, and to eat like one too when need be. Well, more when he felt  the inclination to than when need be, but either way. The hobbit — Bilbo — struck him as a polite enough fellow and had offered to feed him so Dwalin was inclined to return the favor.

He passed his cloak to the hobbit, careful not to crush him with it, and then stood there as Bilbo struggled with the weight of it, eventually hanging it up. He felt slightly awkward; normally his solution to awkwardness was just to ignore it and keep moving but it would probably, in this case, be rude to just brush past the hobbit in search of that thrice curséd scent. Durin's beard, he was _hungry_! 

"P-perhaps, Mr. Dwalin, you'd like to follow me? The kitchen is this way," the hobbit was mumbling a bit, which was rude, but he gestured to his left and Dwalin was content enough with the promise of food to follow him to the kitchen.

When he entered the room it was the heaping pile of biscuits that first caught his eye, then a steaming platter of fish and after that a dish of thickly sliced ham and a tray of fresh loaves of bread. There was also, he noticed upon sitting down and inspecting the table closer, several meat pies and a large pitcher of gravy.

The aroma was even more tantalizing up close, and the spread looked in that moment more beautiful than a dozen sapphires to him, but Dwalin managed to keep ahold of his manners long enough to say the traditional food-thanks.

"Mahal bless this meal and the hands that provided it. May his halls be ever filled with joyful songs and his pockets with gold. With Durin's blood I thank thee and beg it so," he prayed, and then he could wait no longer. He dug in with great gusto, grunting in appreciation.

It was good, all of it. Even if it had been a plain fare he would have been grateful, for he had been on the road for many days with only rations and what he could hunt and "cook" for a meal but this feast was beyond anything he had been expecting. When he paused to breath for a moment, he told his host so.

"I did not expect you to be so welcoming of dwarves, Master Baggins, nor so generous with your food."

The hobbit smiled from where he sat across from Dwalin, replying, "And I did not expect you to be so courteous, Master Dwalin. It seems we both were opperating under preconceived notions. I hope we can both see each other for who we are, not for who the rumors and tales say we should be."

Dwalin growled his assent.

"I-is the food to your liking?" 

Pausing only to swallow his last mouthful, Dwalin answered, "It's a fine meal. Best I've had in decades. I thank you for it."

The hobbit flushed.

"It was no trouble. I'm glad you are enjoying it. I could not find much about dwarrow eating habits in my books, other than that greens were not to be on the menu, so I just prepared a bit of everything. I expected you would be quite hungry from your travels; I myself sometimes forget a few meals when I'm on the road, dreadful as that may sound. But have no fear, there is plenty more of that in the dining room and I've got two more full roasts cooking at my neighbor's smial in case what I have is not enough. How many should I be expecting? Gandalf only said to prepare enough for 'somewhat more than ten and a bit less than twenty' so I may have gone a bit overboard just to be on the safe side..." the hobbit trailed off, chuckling slightly nervously.

Though he was likely trying to be discrete about it, his eyes kept straying to the weapons at Dwalin's hips. Smirking, Dwalin removed the weapons and placed them on the table. 

"There'll be thirteen of us, if you count the wizard. You might want ta start a place to put weapons or they'll all bring 'em in your kitchen and scare you more, _Master_ Baggins."

"Bilbo is fine," the hobbit — Bilbo — said absentmindedly, adding, mostly to himself, "Where did I put that dratted chest I wonder? It could probably bear the weight of all that iron easily . . . if you'll excuse me, Master Dwarf, I'll be right back. Your advice seems sound; help yourself to anything you want while I follow it. I really don't approve of weapons at the table!"

Dwalin decided to respond by doing just that, helping himself to a glass jar of cookies from the nearby shelf and shaking one free.

Just as he heard the sound of some object, assumably a chest, being dragged toward the entryway, a knock sounded against the door.

"Coming! Coming!" puffed Bilbo. Dwalin peered around the corner and chuckled at the sight that met him: Bilbo had shoved the chest against the wall by the door and opened it and was now brushing clean and straightening his fancy vest. Though Dwalin knew little of hobbit fashions, it looked like the hobbit had dressed up for them. How . . . flattering, really. There were not many who cared enough to dress nicely and cook feasts for a host of dwarrow. It made him smile as Bilbo opened the door.

"Balin, at your service," was the dwarf's greeting, along with a sweeping bow in his classic, arms-spread Balin fashion. Dwalin's grin only grew at the sight of his long-missed brother.

Bilbo welcomed him in, introducing himself and assuring him he was not late at all, and, in fact, early. Then Dwalin swept his brother up in a hug and gave him a fond head-butt. 

"Evening, brother," Balin smiled, adding, before Dwalin could taunt his newly white beard, "and I see you've befriended our host or, at least, begged a meal off him!"

"By my beard, you are shorter and wider than last we met! And right too. Have you eaten?"

Balin scowled, but his eyes retained their mischievous twinkle. "Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us. Though I might not stay wider long if I don't get some food in me soon!"

"So I'll take that as a no then," Bilbo interrupted tentatively, "on the 'have you eaten' front?" 

"Ah, where are my manners!" Balin exclaimed. "I can't be ignoring the host! Right you are, I have not. Perhaps, despite my rudeness, you'd be willing to remedy that?"

Bilbo beamed, "Of course, of course! I wouldn't be any sort of proper host if I didn't. If you'll just put your weapons in that chest there and give me your cloak, you can follow Dwalin to the kitchen; he knows the way. There's plenty more left, and if you run low I'll fetch some from the dining room."

Thus the three returned to the kitchen to eat and chat merrily while they awaited the rest of the company, Bilbo fetching drinks and platters of food aplenty to endear himself to the dwarrow and Balin and Dwalin catching up on the time they'd been apart. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me feedback on what you think of my portrayal of the dwarrows (or anything else! I love hearing from you guys!)
> 
> P.S. I have no beta, I self-edit so all mistakes are my own. Please don't hesitate to point them out to me so that I can fix them; I won't be insulted!


	4. More Dwarrows...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing.... Fíli and Kíli!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Li brothers might seem too childish here, but don't worry. When Thorin shows up, they mature quite quickly. They only really act tough/older around him at the beginning of the adventure. Over the course of the adventure, they are forced to mature. However, they will never truly lose their child-like joy... not if Bilbo has anything to say about it:)

Bilbo was quite fascinated by the two dwarrows eating dinner in front of him. They must have healthier appetites than even a hobbit, he thought to himself, for Dwalin had joined his brother in eating again when Balin sat down. Of course, normally taking seconds would not be strange at all, especially by hobbit standards, but it was getting close to supper time and Bilbo just could not believe Dwalin could fit that much more food in his stomach if he didn't stop eating now.

"Easy Dwalin, you shouldn't eat too much! You won't have any room left for supper!"

The two dwarrow stopped eating and stared at him.

"What do you mean supper?" Dwalin asked incredulously. "What would you call this then?"

"Why, dinner, of course!" Bilbo exclaimed with surprise. "It's a bit after five, granted, but it's still much closer to dinner-time than supper-time. Why, do dwarrows do it differently?" 

The two looked at each other strangely, and then Balin ventured, "Well, I suppose we just . . . combine the two together? How many meals do hobbits have anyway? Four?!"

"Four?! Don't be ridiculous. What kind of uncivilized, barbarous people do you take us for? We eat all seven meals, as is proper, like any other!"

"Seven! You can't be serious!" Bilbo would think Dwalin was teasing if not for the genuine look of shock in his eyes.

"Well, yes. Just the usual, you know, breakfast, usually around seven, and then second breakfast close to nine. After which is elevensies, at, of course, eleven, and luncheon at one. Then there's tea-time, at three, and dinner, which you're having now. Supper is at seven; though some wait until eight. Well, I never do, but only because that makes me lose my appetite for snacks at nine. Hobbits who stay up late also have night-time elevensies and mid-night snacks, but I am not much of a night owl, so I just stick with the traditional seven meals."

"Unbelievable! And you eat this much at every meal? How aren't you all as round as barrels?" Dwalin wanted to know.

"Not nearly this much, no. It's only second breakfast, luncheon, and supper that are five course meals. Breakfast and dinner are only three courses, and tea-time and snacks are just, well, snacks really. I went a bit overboard with the dinner preparations because I was expecting all of you but really, it isn't that much! It's only normal!"

"Again, I must ask: how are you not fat?"

Dwalin asked it with such a serious, straight face that Bilbo had to laugh. 

"Well, what do dwarves do then? Is it really so strange?"

Balin, who had been looking back and forth between the two's banter with an amused, curious expression, finally chipped in, "We just have three meals: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And only one course, usually, unless it's a formal dinner."

This time, it was Bilbo's turn to look surprised. Well, he appeared more horrified than shocked, though he was definitely surprised too.

"How do you not all starve?" 

"Well," Balin chuckled, "it would appear we have slower stomachs than you. We don't get hungry as often, and such. And we must not use up our energy as quickly. . ."

"Well, I never! A new lesson learned, every day! It's already been such an adventure getting to know you and it has hardly been an hour since we've met! How perfectly wonderful!"

Dwalin and Balin looked at each other, then at the pleasantly baffled hobbit, and couldn't stop the smiles from creeping across their faces. 

Then a knock came from the door.

 

Fíli and Kíli had little trouble finding the hobbit village; it was just a few hours' walk outside of Bree, after all. But once it came to locating which of the near-identical holes in the hilly town was their host's, things became a bit more tricky. Unfortunately, they'd inherited the Durin-side of the family's sense of directions . . . as in, they were lost.

They were close to losing hope of ever finding the place before dinner when they saw someone walking along the path towards them.

"Excuse me!" Fíli called, "but do you happen to know where I can find the home that's hosting the dwarrows?" Fíli wasn't sure the hobbit would know what he was talking about, but since it was a small town it was likely rumors of strange visitors would travel fast. Fíli hoped they had, at least.

The hobbit, for it was definitely a hobbit, as small and beardless as he was, looked at them carefully. Fíli held his breath.

"You mean Mr. Baggins' house? It's just up in the hill there," he said, gesturing to a well-lit hill-home. Fíli exhaled, exchanging a smile of relief with his brother.

"Thank you, Mr. . . ?"

"Holman Greenhand. It's no trouble to me. The person who's been going through the real trouble is Mr. Baggins. You ought to be properly polite and nice to him; he's been preparing for your arrival for weeks now."

Fíli and Kíli nodded seriously. "Yes sir, we will. Good-bye Mr. Greenhand, and thank you again for your help!" Kíli said, waving cheerfully. The two dwarrows hurried up the path toward the little green door, even more eager now that they could see their goal and smell the food.

They had a bit of trouble reading the note; Taliska was hardly common anymore. Luckily for them, Dís had insisted they learn the basics of the old common languages so that they could read some of their older texts for their schooling. This knowledge paid off as the two grasped the gist of the message. They sharply knocked on the door and awaited their host.

When the door was pulled open, seconds later, they both remembered their promise to the other hobbit, promptly stating: "Fíli," and "and Kíli," then, in unison, "at your service!" with a deeply polite bow.

Kíli, after rising from his bow, eagerly added, "And you must be Mr. Boggins!"  

"Yes, I am Bilbo Baggins," said the hobbit, beaming, "and I'm entirely at yours! Do come in, weapons go in there."

He paused to point at a chest, already partially filled with a few knives and axes.

"Oh, and I can take your cloaks! Hand 'em here, there we go." He looked quite buried with their cloaks piled in his arms, but somehow managed to hang them both up without incident. 

Fíli, gesturing to his own weapons, asked, "Um, I'm a bit worried about these; I just had them sharpened. Is there somewhere else I can put them?"

Bilbo nodded, "Here, I'll take them, and I'll be careful."

"Thank you. Is that . . ." Fíli stopped, cocking his head to the side. Loud chortling could be heard from a nearby room. "Do I hear Mr. Dwalin? Kíli, I think Mr. Dwalin is here!"

"Mr. Dwalin?!" Kíli called excitedly, "Is that you?"

Dwalin lumbered out of the doorway on the left and wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders. 

"Fíli! Kíli! Come give Balin and I a hand. There's far too much food for the two of us."

"That we can do," Kíli laughed. Fíli, remembering his manners, glanced at the hobbit for permission.

He nodded at them, saying, "Go right ahead, I'll be there in a minute. I've just got to put these down somewhere safe."

He was back, true to his word, mere seconds later.

"So, you boys will never guess what Dwalin and I learned about our host before you arrived," Balin taunted. The two elder dwarrows were already full from their own meal and quite content to simply watch the boys to eat their fill. 

"What is it?" Kíli wanted to know, mumbling a bit through his mouthful of food.

"Kíli!" Fíli snapped, elbowing him in the side, "Don't be so rude! No mumbling!"

At this point, Bilbo returned and feeling curious, asked, "Is it really? I didn't know dwarrows considered mumbling rude. Why is that?"

They turned toward him in surprise.

"Well. . . I don't know, honestly," Fíli admitted after a pause.

"Does that mean I can do it?" Kíli wanted to know.

"NO!" growled Fíli, Dwalin, and Balin in unison.

Then they broke off to grin at their shared ingrained-reaction: simultaneous parenting of younger dwarrows. (Younger dwarrows being, unfortunately for Kíli and Fíli, not that common. They got 'parented' _a lot_.)

Balin said, "I think it has something to do with our nature. We're very forthright creatures; we don't believe in subterfuge or hiding our feelings. So that's probably why mumbling is considered rude, insulting even, to most dwarrows. Though to be honest, even I am not sure. It's just how our culture is. It's polite to bow deeply to show respect; it's impolite to mumble . . . who knows where these strange traditions came from! All we know is that it is."

Dwalin, eager to cut off his brother before he entered into a serious lecture mood, interrupted, "Hobbits have strange cultural things as well! We found out that, though you'd never guess by looking at 'em, hobbits eat seven huge meals every day!"

The 'Li brothers were stunned.

"Really?" Kíli asked. "You truly eat seven meals?"

Bilbo's eyes were alive with a deviousness that made him practically glow. 

"That's not even counting desserts!" he laughed. 

Dwalin and Balin lost it, howling with mirth. 

"You're an interestin' bunch, you hobbits are," Dwalin chuckled when he'd mostly recovered himself.

"There's no arguing with that," Balin agreed. 

Bilbo said nothing, but he looked delighted. These dwarrows were all so fun, so interesting to be around. He'd resigned himself to their visit, but he was not expecting such gracious, grateful visitors.

When he thought about it, he discovered that he genuinely liked all of them. Fíli and Kíli seemed so young and playful, though Fíli was definitely trying to be a bit more adult-like since seeing the elder dwarrows. Kíli was filled with so much joy for life . . . the hobbit honestly envied him of it a little. And the two of them were so in-sync with one another, so used to being together, it was honestly a little beautiful to watch.

Then there were the older dwarrows. Balin was old and wise, but his eyes were mischievous and sweet. And Dwalin - gruff, but overall kind and caring Dwalin - was parental in his interactions with the boys, brotherly with Balin, and polite and interested in Bilbo. 

Yes, Bilbo quite liked the dwarrows so far. Maybe traveling with them wouldn't be so bad, if he actually took them up on their crazy offer . . .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a mo' at the end here to say thanks to everyone for all the kudos (50 after only 3 chapters, wow!) and comments (anyone who comments on this is my hero. No seriously, my hero. Thank you, super-commenters!) They make my day:)

**Author's Note:**

> "Olórin , like the other Wizards, took the shape of an old man. He was robed in gray and went about as a wanderer and counselor. . . He was known by many names during the long years he remained in Middle-earth: Elves named him Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, while the men of Arnor named him Gandalf, which became his most common name. He was also known as Incánus (in the south), and Tharkûn to the Dwarves.[5]" (Taken from http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gandalf as an explanation for Gandalf's many names which will be used throughout the work.)


End file.
